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ahhhhhh

There are three sounds that you'll hear in our house quite often. First, you will hear the whistle of the kettle telling us that the water is boiling. Second, you will hear the whir of our coffee grinder turning our whole coffee beans into coarsely ground goodness. And finally, you will hear the beep of our timer telling us the coffee is ready. Some mornings, the time from when we combine the grounds and the hot water (200 degrees exactly) to the time (four minutes exactly) the coffee is ready to drink feels like an eternity. But I must say, we make the best coffee. There is really nothing like it. I'm so thankful to the girl that Andy dated before me who introduced him to the french press method of brewing coffee. We have never done well with drip machines. In fact, the machine that we had was actually infested with roaches. I guess that's what you get if you leave something that retains moisture on your counter in South Carolina.

In the mornings while Deacon and I eat breakfast, he'll often ask for coffee. He has been watching us drink it for 2 years now and since we are his heroes, he wishes to drink it also. I usually give him a small espresso cup to drink just a little bit of coffee and lots of milk. I know that he feels really cool when he drinks it. And after he takes each sip, he lets out a satisfying "ahhhhh" sound. Just like is mama and papa do while they drink their first cup of the day.

Thank-you, God, for coffee.

O how I love you, my little O

You make me smile when:

you are all bundled up like a little burrito in the night time.

you tightly hold on to my necklace as we walk through the house.

you decide that holding your head up is too tiring, so you just let it flop.

you make those faces that makes me wonder if you're going to really smile at me.

you get your diaper changed and I get to see how beautifully fat your thighs and belly have gotten.

you spit-up on your papa.

you actually believe me when I tell you that everything will be alright.

yes, elephant

These were the first words out of Deacon's mouth a few days ago. When I wake up, I say things like "ARGH" or "Turn off the alarm" or the most common one, "I'll get up when you have the coffee ready". Not a two-year-old. He is glad to be awake. He opens his eyes, scans the room, notices an elephant on his blanket and says "yes, elephant". On Sunday afternoon, our house was filled banana cupcakes, balloons and friends as we celebrated two years of Deacon's life.

I started my own tradition - which I hope my sons will continue when they are old enough - of buying myself flowers on his birthday. Why shouldn't I get flowers to celebrate the day that I pushed these kids out into this world? Last year, I was so excited about Deacon's birthday. At the check-out counter of the grocery store, I told the clerk, "These ballons are for my son, he is one year old today. And these flowers are for me for having him one year ago today." This teenage boy looked so puzzled and responded, "You buy yourself flowers?".

Sure, why not buy yourself flowers. Celebrate, even if the day isn't specifically for you. And buy your mother flowers on your birthday to thank her.

It's been a long time coming

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On Mothering:

When I first found out that I would be a mother, I was a bit surprised. But now, after only two years of mothering, I have found it to be the most fulfilling and the most challenging job that I’ve ever filled. I have two beautiful sons, Deacon and Owen. They are the reason for much joy and laughter in my home. Deacon’s little words and Owen’s little coos are wonderful music to my ears. I’ve been fortunate to take care of them full time at home. I have found that colors are much brighter, fabrics are much softer, and the music is much sweeter when you have little ones in your life.

Life is alarmingly beautiful. And the beauty often catches me while it is trying to dress up as something else.